Just a Dream
by dancedude09
Summary: And in that brief moment at five in the morning, I wonder: was this just a dream? Then, I see the picture frame of you on my beside table; It’s empty, and I know it wasn’t.
1. Lily

**Lily

* * *

**

I sit myself near to James, with the hope that his natural strength would rebuild my own. At a normal family gathering, I would sit near to you. You would tease me about being redheaded. I would punch you in the nose, just to watch it morph into something different. This isn't a normal gathering, though, and so, I sit by James and his new bride, Katherine Wood.

You, normally, would have made gagging faces every time James said something particularly prissy. I would remind you that you quip the same sentimental mush to your wife. My heart burns at these thoughts, and I shift anxiously in my chair.

My father and Uncle Ron are shaking hands with the Malfoy family. I know they get along because you wanted your grandmother's family to be a part of your family. I admire that. Rose is tucked neatly into Scorpius' side, and, for a moment, I wish I hadn't ditched my last boyfriend, as it would be nice to have someone other than family to hold me together.

I close my eyes and hope that is isn't real, that you are still here, and that all of the Auror's office desks are still filled. I shudder at the mental picture of your body crumpling from the terribly unjust attack. I force myself to reopen my eyes.

I see that Scorpius' grandmother, Narcissa, looks distraught. Your grandmother passed away just months ago, and I remember how shaken everyone was at the funeral, except for you. You always had a knack for staying strong in times of tragedy, and I am sure that this loss pains Narcissa just as much as the loss of her sister did.

Minister Shacklebolt arrives, accompanied by a large group of officials. Their faces all hold the same solemn, regretful expression that my father has donned all week. He blames himself, saying that, as Head Auror and your godfather, he should have discouraged you from taking the mission or even, assigned you to another one. Dad has always been like that though, you know that; you tried to convince him that your parents' deaths were not his fault once. That, unfortunately, did not work.

James turns and gives the group of Aurors a nod of recognition. A few have brought their families; most came alone. My heart plummets as I notice your friend and fellow Auror, Joseph Towler, sitting on the edge of the group, staring down at his hands. I have an urge to comfort him, but with the tears I am fighting back and an ache coming from somewhere in my stomach, I feel too hallow, too drained to help right now. I know you would have wanted me to at least try, so for that, I am sorry.

Albus slouches into the seat next to me sloppily, carrying with him the potent smell of Firewhiskey and the appearance that he just got off of a wild broomstick ride. You know that Albus isn't too keen on sharing his emotions, and these are probably the only signs of sadness Albus will give. I lay my head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around me. The gesture moves me almost to tears. Being reminded that I have two brothers that are here to consol me only makes me think of the brother that I have lost.

That is what you were to me: a brother. Not the cousin-in-law/god-brother that you technically were because a cousin-in-law/god-brother would not entertain a silly little girl every Wednesday afternoon for two years because her older brothers were away at school. A cousin-in-law/god-brother would not send lilies to someone on random days and sign the card: _Just because you're a flower. _A cousin-in-law/god-brother would not sneak trays of treacle tart to a moody teenager's room because she broke her mother's vase and got grounded.

A brother would; you would.

Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey are the last of the aunts and uncles to arrive. (Which is odd) Lucy leads them to the row behind Uncle George. Molly and Dominique are quietly sobbing in the seats following Fred and his fiancee, Colleen Finnigan (Do you remember her? She had a crush on you before she realized you were married.), and Roxanne is whispering with Hugo directly behind me. Normally, I would comment on the ever-expanding nature of our family tree, but today, any jokes seem to have lost their hilarity. You would have made me laugh again.

I notice that heads are starting to turn and any speaking ceases. Your ever-graceful and gorgeous Victoire is walking toward the gathering in the cemetery, her hair pulled elegantly back and her robes a silky black. She balances Nicholas, your handsome, turquoise-haired, two year old boy on her hip and a large black bag on her shoulder. Her belly protrudes noticeably, and I find myself calculating how far-along she is. You would have proudly told me her due date with ease.

Aunt Fleur immediately begins to sob. She loved you, Teddy, because you were good to her daughter, and you always complimented her cooking (even though we all know it's dreadful). Victoire looks so calm, peaceful, even. She apologizes for being tardy, stating that Nicholas insisted on lunch before they left. Uncle Bill dismisses this with a wave of his hand and a kiss to her forehead. You should be there with her; no one should have to be a widow at twenty-four.

James gently pulls Nicholas from Victoire's arms and settles him down in his own lap. I am glad you chose James to be Nicholas' godfather. He takes the position very seriously. He skivvied off work all week to spend time with Nicholas. I know that Nicholas is very confused by all of this, but as soon as he sees James, he happily changes his appearance from your carbon copy to the mussied Potter male hair. I notice that James' smile at little Nick doesn't quite reach his eyes as it normally does, and I choke down another round of sobs at the thought of a younger version of my brother who would follow you around relentlessly. Did that ever bother you? I never thought to ask.

There are many exchanges of sympathy to Victoire who politely shakes hands and mutters words I either cannot hear or don't listen to. There are many people here that I don't recognize, that you probably don't even remember, just as there had been at James' wedding.

James' wedding-- my eyes water at the thought. I remember with a jolt you were joking about everything from Victoire not allowing you to name your impending child Harry because "Uncle Harry has namesakes sprouting up from everywhere and hardly needs another" to how awkward Albus' stride is. I lose myself in this memory, thinking of the extraordinarily easy way that you laughed. Dad used to tell us that you could get along with anyone, pointing out the time when you were eight and you charmed the notoriously disagreeable Lucius Malfoy into giving yourself and Victoire biscuits.

Perhaps this is why James always emulated you.

People are shifting around now, realigning themselves and seating accordingly. My mother is whispering directions in my ear, though none of them are being processed properly. I feel empty. Albus kindly guides me from one seat to another, settling me down with a final squeeze of my hand. I end up sitting between Uncle Charlie and Headmaster McGonagall, an rather odd combination, but I suppose I have seen more obscure arraignments. Like the time you told me you were spending the afternoon with Uncle Percy and Luna Lovegood.

"Good afternoon," a deep voice sounds. I look up to see the Minister himself presiding over your funeral (I guess you really were as important at the ministry as you cockily stated so many times), and then, I spot your casket suddenly, and though I suppose I had seen it in the background before, I can't help but let out a loud, rolling sob. Uncle Charlie swiftly holds out a handkerchief, but I ignore it. I think that you would have held me or something equally as kind; you never were the type to say that showing emotion is weak.

"We are gathered here today to mourn the untimely death of an extremely admirable, brave man." He pauses, and overwhelming sounds of despair fill my ears. Aunt Fleur is beside herself, sobbing heavily into Uncle Bill's chest, and he seems to be torn between comforting his wife and helping Victoire. Louis is stroking Dominique's hair from her face while Molly tries to placate her. Hagrid's tears are starting a small puddle of mud at his feet. Grandmum is wiping at her eyes and clutching Grandfather's hand like it is a lifeline. The Malfoys are the most quiet but not lacking sorrow on their faces, and even the ministry officials seem on the verge of tears. These people loved you, Teddy, and I loved you, too.

And in the midst of all of this obvious sadness, Victoire is looking pleasantly at the Minister, as if waiting for him to finish telling a story about a leisurely game of Gobstones.

I'm confused by this; you would have understood.

"Theodore Remus Lupin changed the ideas of good and hope in people just as effortlessly as he changed his appearance. His birth during a wartime brought a sense of prevailing triumph in a fearful, anxious atmosphere. His parents' tragic deaths regrettably made him a poster child for families affected by the war."

I notice some heads turn toward Uncle George, who despite being earless and twinless, his love for life matches probably only yours. Mum says he draws his strength from his family and knowing that Uncle Fred would have wanted him to live on and keep their legacy alive.

I wish I could have met him.

My heart beats painfully again as I remember that you once cried to my father that same wish about your parents and that Nicholas and the baby Victoire is carrying (is it a girl? I hope it is.) will wish that same thing about his or her father. I choke on my own tears. I know you would have wanted to be here to raise your children.

"But while we were feeling sorry for Teddy, we forgot that he needed not our sympathy. Teddy ignited spirit in every soul that he touched, and his strength and his courage will never be forgotten again. Teddy wanted, demanded even, that the people around him loved and lived as brilliantly as he did. So today, I remind you to never feel sorry for Teddy's short life because he lived every moment as if it were his last. I remind you to learn from Teddy and follow his example of endless heart and bravery in every aspect of your life. Most, I remind you to remember Teddy always.

Teddy Lupin: You will be missed."

Truer words may have never been spoken.

Your casket is magically lowered into the grave, and moments later, Albus is helping me out of the chair and guiding me out of the Godric's Hallow cemetery, the same place that my father's parents are buried, the same place that your parents are buried.

I cry again, Teddy. I sob in Albus' arms. I wanted him to Apparate me home so that I wouldn't have to pass your house, the one in which you would have shared a lifetime with Victoire and your children, but I suppose, with the emotional state everyone is in, Apparation could mean splinching. We shuffle past your house and travel the few blocks to our own house. It's not as hard as I thought it might be, because I remember immediately the time you moved; you paid me two Galleons to help bin and move your stuff. I never asked, but I always had a suspicion that Dad had paid you those two Galleons to keep me out of the house and away from James's obnoxiously large ego.

Albus tries to feed me something; I think that may have been Dad's advice, too. He had tried to get me to eat breakfast, but I couldn't. I'm just not hungry. You wouldn't like that either. You probably would have brought me over something I couldn't resist (shepherd's pie, you know it's my favorite.) But you aren't here, so I go to bed at two in the afternoon and only wake because of a startling nightmare right before sunrise.

And in that brief moment at five in the morning, I wonder: was this just a dream?

Then, I see the picture frame of you on my beside table; It's empty, and I know it wasn't.


	2. James

**James

* * *

**

Four days ago, I was buying bed linens and bickering with my wife over wall color choices. We had just moved into this house, a brand new one not far from yours. You had just been over for dinner a few nights previous and jested me about the scattered, unpacked boxes.

Today, I am maneuvering around those now-forgotten boxes and rushing to the cemetery. Katherine, despite only knowing you for a few years, is teary eyed and refusing to come out of the loo until she appears composed. I sigh and curse you for being so bloody loveable, also, for pregnancy hormones.

We didn't get a chance to tell you. We haven't told anyone, actually. We were waiting for the right moment. You would have wanted us to learn something from all of this, to live every moment fully, to say what you want to say before it's too late, but I am having difficulty sharing good news when everyone is so torn. Plus, Katherine isn't much excited about having the whole family rubbing her belly every chance they get, and you know they will–they do it to Victoire constantly.

It's half-past noon by the time we pass through the kissing gate. I wonder if I should have gone to your house first because Victoire may have needed my help with Nicholas. Honestly, I want to be there for him like you were always there for me, but I am finding that he is more of an escape for me these days than I am for him. I don't know what to do with that.

Katherine seats herself, and I follow her blindly as if I am incapable of thinking for myself. Which, I sourly admit, may be true at the present, but then, Lily takes the seat next to me. She's young, and though this isn't her first funeral, it's the first to have impacted her. My stomach turns at the thought of her innocence being tainted even in the slightest. You, I think, had the softest spot for Lily. The age difference, I always thought, was to blame; you had the patience for her much sooner than Al or I ever did. And if you were here, you'd probably have a go at the tears that I blink back at the sight of my little sister in such distress.

There are loads of people here, mate: Some I hardly even recognize. It's like this at most gatherings involving our family. People like being associated with us, I suppose. As a child, I loved it. I childishly loved the attention, loved the praise. Now, I handle it, but secretly harbor an unnatural hate for large crowds. You had the forbearance for things like this; a calm, joking demeanor that I could never seem to emulate properly.

The Malfoys are here. I try not to scowl at the sight of how that twit, Scorpius, has his arm drapped around Rose. I can finally admit that that Malfoys are no longer pure-blood-loving maniacs, but I do not have to like seeing Rose date one of them. I just refuse. Sorry for that.

Dad is practically beside himself, I can tell. He does a bang up job of keeping it in, but in those green eyes I notice the faintest hint of exhaustion. Like whatever the Minister is saying pains him to hear. I wonder if he will ever forgive himself for letting you go on that mission. And selfish me, I wonder if he will ever again let me go on an expedition. I have a feeling extensive paperwork is in my immediate future.

You hated paperwork.

Albus arrives, smelling like he just stepped out of a bar, the stupid git. Lily practically collapses into Al's side, and though I am happy he's helping her, I worry that he's not thinking enough about himself. He's always been like that. I remember a Quidditch game in my fifth year: Albus got distracted when he saw Brandon Bexford plummeting to the ground, and he forgot to dodge the bludger while rocketing to try to catch him. Both ended up in the hospital wing, and Gryffindor lost its two best chasers. (As captain, I was furious, of course.)

Yet, as a brother, I can't help but brag just a bit about my younger brother who would die for others. People say he's just like our Dad. I agree.

Also, he's exactly like you.

Katherine grabs my hand, and I wince. The burns from the Auror mission still sting, but the memory of you ... well, that's worse. I trace it lightly with my hand. The Healers did all they could, but the burn will leave a scar; of course, the memories will, too.

I feel very old for a brief moment –like I am one of those old War Veterans who gather in the Leaky Cauldron Tuesday nights and swap War stories. (Do you remember when we snuck out one summer night to listen to them?) But I come back to think that I am not old; you were not old. You were twenty-six years old, and you died. You died at twenty-six.

That's not even one-fourth of the lifetime that those old War Vets have lived.

I am remembering our infamous Snowball War my first year at Hogwarts. It started because you threw a clump of snow at my Potions homework. Then, I suppose it "snowballed" and nearly half of the school took sides and joined up. You, as Head Boy, barely got reprimanded. I, however, got detention for a month.

I only resented that a little.

I whisper to Katherine that I love her. I think I hear someone scoff from somewhere behind me, but I realize it was a muffled sob from Dominique. If anything, these few days have taught me that the time we have here is precious, so I guess thanks for that one. Katherine is getting a bit annoyed with all the extra attention, really. (She thinks I've gone bonkers.) But I can't keep from saying anything, everything that I feel when I'm with her. I sort of hope that passes.

As I am looking up, I notice Victoire opening the kissing gate. I release Katherine's hand and stride over to her. The gathering seems to silence as if in a wave coming off of your wife. She exudes a sense of silent calm–almost as if she accepted this as your fate (and hers, too) long ago. She smiles thankfully at me as I take Nicholas from her. She might be part-Veela, but I find that she is one of the most gentle, caring people in our family. (I just pictured Uncle Percy's awkward hugs at Christmastime. Remember how we avoided him?)

Nicholas entertains me through most of the service. Kingsley's deep voice resonates throughout the cemetery, but really, what's the use in paying attention? I enjoy watching Nicholas's hair change colors as I uncover and recover my face. Also, I have my memories of you–loads of them–and I don't need the Minister to tell me to remember them. Kingsley, despite being close with our families, cannot properly describe how I felt about you.

He can't mention the million of moments in my life when you made me laugh or made me angry or made me do something that I never should have done. You thought it was hilarious to tell me to set the Christmas decorations on fire last year. (Even after I promised that I had matured too much to do something so stupid.) You showed me how to ignore the sting in a Quidditch injury when I was seven. You told Albus that you ate his last chocolate frog because you knew my mum would pound me if she found out the truth.

I won't ever forget you.

And as I am trying to concentrate on Nicholas, I feel a few tears escape my eyes. Because honestly, having to watch Nicholas grow up without a father is about as emotional for me as the dream I had last night: You hadn't been killed ten paces away from me, and the next time we step into this dreary cemetery it is not to bury someone but to pay our respects.

"Teddy Lupin: You will be missed."

I already miss you.


	3. Albus

**Albus

* * *

**

It's sometime past midday, and already, I am slurring my words and staggering slightly. I'm not exactly proud of that. Your advice would be to get out before I start picking up the wrong sort of girl, which, in my state, could be occurring at any moment. I chug the rest of my beer and slam the empty glass upside down on the bar, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. As I begin to reach for a handful of coins, I pause, thinking that, with the looks of the patrons, I may have ventured into a Muggle bar by mistake. I shuffle through my pockets and find a few spare Muggle notes. I leave them next to my empty glass and stumble to the exit.

The street is unfamiliar, and I wonder how I ever found this place on my broom at four in the morning. I scratch at my hair, weighing the thought that I probably look too unkempt to show up at the cemetery with the thought that I don't really give a damn.

I shouldn't try Apparating in my state. I know that, alright? I do. I know. But again, splinching myself no longer seems as threatening as it did only a few weeks prior. So, I shrink my broom, stuff it in my pocket, and turn on my heel.

I undershot the cemetery by quite a ways, and I end up resizing my broom and flying through most of Godric's Hallow before arriving to my intended destination.

The first person I see is my dad. He gives me one of those concerned-father looks. I smile like an idiot at him, as I had seen you do on several occasions. Typically, a smile makes Harry Potter like you more.

Just something I learned from you at a young age.

Next, I see some of my old Quidditch teammates in a group looking solemn. Most of them now have jobs or internships with the Ministry. They remind me that I still need to figure out what I am going to do with my life. The last conversation you and I had was over that subject, too. Do you remember?

You told me to find something that I love, but I think I only truly love two things in my life: flying and Kelly Connolly. Flying is sort of out because while playing Quidditch every day for the rest of my life would be incredible, I have to accept the fact that Kelly hates Quidditch. She hates me, too, right now, but I am working on that.

She'll always hate Quidditch, though.

I don't pay much attention to any of the folks here. Most of them are annoying anyway. Scorp is over there with Rose, and sure, he's my best mate, but it doesn't mean I want to talk to him while Rose is sobbing on his shoulder like a little girl. It's obnoxious, you know? Rose never could handle her emotions. Honestly! Remember that Christmas when I teased her because of the abysmal DADA exam she got, and she threw that plate at my head? She's completely bonkers sometimes; I don't know how Scorp handles her.

I do notice that my little Lily is looking completely helpless in the seat next to James. My heart would break at the sight, but I think it's too warm from the whiskey I drank. Still, when I sit next to her, and she wraps into me like she did when we were younger, I feel better. Lily has, like, serious healing powers. She should be a Healer, now that I think of it.

You would have liked that. You were all for saving people. It's what gotcha in the end, wasn't it? You couldn't just hold still and assess for a few seconds, could you? It's not like Dad would have let James or the others die anyway. Especially not James; you know he's Mum's favorite, and she'd string him up if he came home without James, that's for sure.

Can you see Lily now? She's Dad's favorite because she's perfect, but really, she sort of all of our favorites. But you definitely doted on her the most, so I'm blaming you first if she turns out to be rotten. That's why this is all hell for her-you were like her idol. You should have thought about her before you did the hero stuff, mate.

Oh, Victoire just got here.

That's all I really need to say about that, I think. You understand already how she steals the room with one smile. It's a bit obnoxious, really. I scoff a little. Not that I don't love my oldest cousin (Merlin knows we all do) but seriously, couldn't she even be a little less than perfect today? I mean, it makes me and my bloody stench look bad. Really bad.

She makes it better by bringing Nick though. Good work on that one, by the way. I hope the next one turns out just as good. He chooses to morph into a carbon copy of James the minute he sees him. I suppose making James his godfather was a right good choice. Nick loves him, and it's not like I would have been a good pick–I did show up to this funeral drunk–and choosing Victoire's brother, Louis, would have shown a dreadful lack in judgment on your part since he's still in school and is still a prat.

My mother tells me to take Lily and move her farther away from the casket. She frowns at me as she says this, and I can feel her sneer following me, even as I do as she had asked. Not that my mother and father don't love me, but I was never the favorite like James or Lils. My mother always said I was a bit too much like my father, and my father always said I was a bit too much like my mother.

I don't think I'm really like either. Looks wise, I suppose, I'm the spitting image of my father. But, really? Neither Harry or Ginny Potter would ever be a month late on the rent or spend time flying a broom instead of searching for a job. I guess I'm the perpetual let-down of the family. I think my dad even likes Scorpius more than me. And he's a Malfoy.

I mean, obviously they love me. They're my bloody parents, so they ought to have to, yeah? But like is a different story. They think I'm smart and good for a laugh, but they usually use the words "waste" or "damn shame" when they talk about what I've accomplished. They just wish I was more like you: dependable, eager, married, not jobless. I guess that last bit didn't work out too well for you, though, did it?

As Kingsley begins his speech, I wonder why someone in the family didn't preside over the ceremony. It would have made better sense, yeah? Suppose no one thought they could sum you up correctly. I know I couldn't.

You were all over the place, mate. One minute you were giving flying lessons to Lils, the next you'd be talking to Uncle Percy about politics, and then you'd be at the pub with your mates.

I listen quietly to Kinsley's speech, wishing that you were still here, that someone in our family didn't have to die every twenty or so years. I mean, honestly! How is it fair that every generation has someone with a dead parent? How is it fair that you, who had all of his shit together, has to die when there are people like me in the world who can't even get the love of his life to write him back or can't show up to his god-brother's funeral sober?

In two words: it isn't.

As the service ends, I go to Lily's side immediately and cling to her as she cries. I've decided to get my shit together because of you. Specifically, because of your death. It isn't fair that everyone is aching. It isn't fair that Nicholas and the unborn one are going to grow up without a father. It isn't fair that you were only twenty-six. It isn't fair that you aren't coming back. It just isn't fair.

So for that, thanks, Teddy. Your heroism may have saved my life, too.

Unfortunately, it ended


End file.
